


So Long, And Goodnight

by thecelliabration



Category: Jennifer's Body (2009), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Human Sacrifice, Rituals, Satanism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-15 03:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8040718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecelliabration/pseuds/thecelliabration
Summary: "Although there’s a big misconception of our band, now, that we’re in the back lighting things on fire and sacrificing virgins."The interviewer laughs. "And you don't?""No," he replies with a shy smile. Well, he thinks to himself, except for that one time.Or, a Jennifer's Body AU where My Chemical Romance was the band that sacrificed Jennifer Check and unknowingly turned her into a boy-eating succubus.





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching Jennifer's Body the other day, and I was like, "What if it was My Chem instead of Low Shoulder?" Then I thought about Gerard as Nikolai Wolf, all eyeliner and charming smiles, and I thought, fuck yeah, I should write an AU about this.
> 
> But like, if you're not into reading about kidnapped girls and sacrificing her to Satan, don't read this. (This was purely for fun. I don't think MCR has ever sacrificed any virgins.)

"So, Mikey, what do you think about the success of your latest album, _Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge?"_

Mikey looks up, his face thoughtful. "Well, it's really awesome," he tells the interviewer earnestly. And that's it, really. Mikey has never been a man of words – that's Gerard's thing – but here he is, stuck in shitty interviews while the rest of the band lounges around off-screen, probably drinking coffee or something. He sighs at the thought of caffeine.

The interviewer coughs a little, enough to jolt Mikey back to where he is. Right. She's looking at him like she expects more, so he fidgets around his head and comes up with some bullshit to pass the time. "I mean, we worked really hard on the album, and it's such a different direction from _Bullets_ that we didn't know how people would react, so we're surprised it's getting a lot of success. Although there’s a big misconception of our band, now, that we’re in the back lighting things on fire and sacrificing virgins."

The interviewer laughs. "And you don't?"

"No," he replies with a shy smile. _Well,_ he thinks to himself, _except for that one time._

 


	2. Chapter 2

Devil's Kettle was in the middle of fucking _nowhere_ , and that was why Gerard thought it was the perfect place. The town was drab and dreary, something straight out of a gloomy indie flick, with its pale skies and still forests and run-down, endearing little shacks on every corner. Normally, Gerard ate that shit up, using it is inspiration for whatever next art concept he would think of – but they weren't visiting Devil's Kettle for anything he wanted to remember. When the band clambered out of their van after driving all the way from New Jersey, they were too tired to really inhale the fresh, sharp scents of pine and rain, so they just checked into a cozy inn and passed out on the beds.

Besides, they were on a mission. Checking out the town was the least of their concerns.

*

"Hey, what's the name of the bar we're playing at again?"

Mikey looked up at Frank from where he was sprawled on the bed, idly flipping a comic book. "Melody Lane, or something."

Frank nodded. "Awesome." His fingers on the keyboard were the only sound in the room. Bob went over to Frank and peered over his shoulder at the laptop screen.

"We have a MySpace account?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah, set it up last month."

"Why am I always the last to know things?"

"Because you suck," Frank retorted dully. That earned him a smack on the head, but his grin was still unapologetic. Bob was still grumbling to himself about _annoying tattooed little fuckers_ when Gerard finally showed up, unwinding the scarves from his neck and humming to himself. Frank nodded at him in greeting, already feeling his face lighting up. "Hey, Gee."

"Hi, Frankie," Gerard murmured fondly. He passed over Frank to pat his head before plopping on their bed next to Mikey.

"Gerard's here?" Ray's high-pitched voice sounded warbled behind the bathroom door where he was taking a shower. "Dude, where've you been? We should be practicing."

"Sorry," Gerard called out. "I was checking out the place, uh, Harmony Lane or whatever."

"Melody," they all chime at the same time.

"Melody, right, fuck." He rubbed at his eyes. "It's a shithole, by the way."

Mikey closed his comic book and flopped on his back to stare at Gerard. "What did you expect, we're in the middle of who-the-fuck-knows."

"It's not _that_ bad," Gerard defended. He pursed his lips a little. "Just small, I guess."

"'S okay. We gotta start out small," said Mikey.

Frank nodded. "Plus, if all goes well tonight, it won't matter."

They all turned to Frank.

"Don't tell me you guys are having second thoughts," he said, almost like he was appalled. Nobody spoke, and the silence was heavier than a real response. Even the water from Ray's shower seemed to have stopped. Frank turned his gaze to Gerard then, painfully asking.

It was Gerard's idea to come to Devil's Kettle, after all.

"Yeah," Gerard said after a while. He looked at Mikey, then Bob. "Yeah, it won't matter."

Frank clapped once, obviously relieved. Bob cut him a glare and said, "You are _way_ too excited about this, Iero."

Frank replied with a _who? me?_ expression, barely suppressing his grin. He went over to where Gerard and Mikey was flopped over on the bed and he didn't hesitate to crush them both with his weight, ignoring their yelps of protest. He rolled onto his back, pulling Gerard close and nuzzling into his neck, his hands wrapped loosely around Gerard's hips. "It's an awesome idea," he finally murmured.

Bob eyed them both warily. "You only think it's awesome 'cause it came from Gerard."

"Frank's undying devotion fuels me," Gerard said, amused. Everyone else rolled their eyes while Frank and Gerard demonstrated their _I adore you_ faces to each other, all starry-eyed and flushed cheeks. It was obvious that Frank was a tiny bit in love with Gerard, although no one one knew if it was serious in any way. It wasn't like Gerard was hard to fall in love with, anyway. The rest of the band just kind of go along with it, like they go along with whatever Gerard suggested, because it was usually good for the band. Or maybe Gerard just possessed an uncanny amount of charm, bordering on fucking _witchcraft_ , because there was no way any of them would agree, under normal, sans-Gerard circumstances, to travel to an obscure town to find a virgin and sacrifice her to Satan.

The bathroom door creaked open; Ray stepped out, shaking the water out of his unruly set of hair. He looked different with it matted to his face. "So does this mean we're still doing it?"

"Yeah," Gerard nodded. "All we need to do is find the right girl."

"How are we even gonna know?" Mikey craned his head to look at Gerard. "That she's a virgin, I mean."

Frank rolled his eyes. "We ask, duh."

"Yeah, Frank, like that's not totally fucking creepy."

"It depends on how you ask," he enlightened, "and _who_ asks." He looked around the room, studying each of the guys' faces with narrowed eyes until he settled his gaze on Mikey again. "It's a toss up between Ray and Gee."

Bob nodded in understanding, but Mikey frowned. "Why not me?"

"No offense, Mikeyway, but you either look like a dork, or a serial killer. You don't exactly give off I'm-not-going-to-sacrifice-you-to-Satan vibes."

"Fuck you, man, I'm angelic."

"Yes, you are," Gerard said, grinning. He planted a small kiss on Frank's cheek before sitting up, glancing at the wall clock above the doorframe. It was almost five o'clock, which meant they had to get going. The rest of the band shuffled around, gathering their stuff and instruments and making last-minute wardrobe changes. Gerard busied himself with another layer of eyeliner, smudging it just enough so it looked like the perfect balance of dead guy and loser musician. He had perfected it over the last few months of playing gigs in shitty bars.

My Chemical Romance was a good band – better than most punk/rock bands on the scene. At least, they thought so. Frank, who had been in a lot of bands pre-My Chem, firmly believed that they deserved to go _big_ , and Gerard trusted him to know whether or not they were actually worth anyone's time. They had released an album through a small-town label and it did pretty okay, but Gerard knew they had so much more to offer. They had _something_ in their music, their band, something that other musicians didn't have, and he was determined to be able to share it with the whole fucking world, even if it meant dabbling in mysticism and Satanic worship.

It was just that – it was getting so hard to make it as a band those days, and there were so _many_ of them, competing for slots in even the smallest of gigs. Gerard knew he needed to be patient, these things didn't come easily – but one day he was surfing the Internet, researching about Satanic rituals and stuff, you know, the usual, and he came across – well. He didn't know _what_ it was, exactly, but there were pictures, and there were words he more or less understood, but his eye caught on the word _SUCCESS_ and he couldn't stop thinking about it for days.

Of course he told Mikey first – he _always_ told Mikey first. They were just hanging out as usual, Gerard smoking and Mikey telling him about this band he saw at this local bar, and Gerard just came out with it, no preamble whatsoever, babbling about the power of Satanic spells and the sanctity of the ritual and how it could be the start of what My Chem was meant for, and by the end of his speech he had trailed off-topic and he had to shut himself up for his own good.

Mikey made a face. He didn't need to ask if Gerard was serious – he knew he always was. "We're gonna kill someone?"

"Well, technically we're offering her up to Satan, and I'm not sure if she'll, like, live on with him or something – but yeah, I mean. She's gonna have to die, here, at least."

Mikey nodded. Gerard took another drag of his cigarette, suddenly nervous.

"If that's what you think we should do," Mikey said slowly, "then I'm on board."

With newfound courage, he asked Bob next. It didn't take much; Bob was just really fucking cool with whatever shit Gerard had to offer him, and that was why Gerard loved him unconditionally.

Gerard was only halfway through his point when Frank slammed his hand down on the table, grinning like the psycho that he was. "Sign me the fuck up!"

"Wait," Gerard said, holding up a hand. "I haven't even explained it yet."

"You had me at _sacrificing virgins_ , man," he said. "Metal as fuck."

Well, okay, then. He couldn't really do anything about Frank's homicidal tendencies, so he just kissed him on the cheek and set off to find Ray.

Now, Gerard knew Ray was the real obstacle, because, well, Ray had morals. At least, morals that were more human than the rest of the band. He had found Ray lounging around wit his guitar, figuring out yet another sick guitar solo. "Hey," he greeted Gerard when he saw him come in. He settled his guitar down and picked up a water bottle near his feet, tipping it up and meeting Gerard's gaze.

"So, uh, I thought of something we could do to, um, speed up the process for us, a little. For the band, I mean."

Ray quirked his eyebrows up in a _go on, I'm listening_ manner.

Gerard exhaled slowly, then said, "We need to sacrifice a virgin to Satan."

Ray choked on his water.

Gerard was quick to pat his back until Ray coughed most of it out, panting heavily and taking in huge gulps of air when he could. Gerard waited it out patiently, settling carefully on the floor in front of Ray. Satanism was a lot to take in.

Ray inhaled deeply; then, "Are you out of your goddamn MIND?"

"Hear me out, Ray – "

"Sacrificing a fucking virgin to Satan, Jesus fucking _Christ,_ don't fucking joke about that shit – "

"I'm not, I'm serious – "

"Oh, God, you _are_ serious, aren't you?"

"Yes."

Ray closed his eyes like he was trying to contain himself. "Why?"

Gerard gave the usual spiel about finding it on this Satanist website and how he thought it would be the help they needed to launch My Chem's career even further. "I'm not doing it for the money or anything," he clarified when Ray frowned. "It's just that – don't we want to save lives? We can do that, man, our music is going to change the fucking _world_ , but we can't do that when we're stuck playing in shitty bars and opening for terrible bands. We have _so much_ to give, Ray, we can save so many fucking people."

"But that means we'd have to _kill someone_ , Gerard. Like, _take a life_. Murder. Homicide. Possible prison time. Mortal _sin_."

"We won't get caught," he said, waving a hand at Ray. "And her death will be for the greater good, don't you think?"

Ray rubbed at his eyes, groaning. "This is under the assumption that this would work."

"It will," he affirmed. He stared at Ray earnestly, making his eyes go as wide and pleading as he could.

Ray bit his lip in thought. "And the other guys agreed to it?"

"Yep."

"Jesus fucking Christ," he whispered incredulously. "This is _insane_."

"Yep," Gerard repeated, with feeling.

There was a long, icy silence. Gerard began to wonder what he would do if Ray said no. Would he still go through with his fucked-up plans? He didn't want to do it without Ray on board – it was as much as his band as it was Gerard's – so he just sat there quietly, imagining the cogs working in Ray's head.

Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, Ray spoke. "You sure this is gonna work?"

"More or less," he admitted.

"You better hope it does, motherfucker, otherwise, I'll kill you," Ray intoned, voice grave. Gerard grinned.

And that was the beginning of everything.

*

Melody Lane wasn't your typical bar. Well, it wasn't _a_ bar, period. Frank thought it was more of a, what do you call it, a saloon. Yeah, a saloon. It didn't _look_ like a saloon, but it felt like one, for some reason, and Frank heard old Western movies playing in his head as he tuned his guitar on stage.

He turned to Bob, who was running his fingers along the drum kit and frowning at the accumulation of dust settled there. "This place really is a shithole."

Bob grunted in agreement. "Don't let them hear you, though."

Frank turned around and surveyed the surroundings once more. There wasn't much people there, just the bartender and a few guys at the bar, watching television. The place was dingy and a little run-down, cobwebs adorning every corner like it was Halloween. There was a jukebox playing warbled, old love songs and some kid playing pinball beside it – and that was it. Frank frowned, his stomach shifting uneasily.

"Stop worrying," Mikey admonished from beside him. He was peering at Frank under his glasses and apparently reading minds. "It's still early, Frank. They'll come."

"I put it up on MySpace and everything, they _better_ fucking come."

"They will." Mikey played a few chords on his bass and went to talk to Ray about something.

Gerard appeared out the bathroom with yet _another_ layer of eyeliner ("It keeps wearing off," he told the band when they shuffled out of the van a while ago), and Frank waved him over with a grin.

"How do I look?" Gerard asked, looking up at Frank, who was elevated by the stage.

"Beautiful, baby," Frank replied, somewhat dreamily. Gerard pushed at him, laughing, and Frank giggled, too. He could practically feel the rest of the band rolling their eyes at them, but he didn't care. He helped Gerard clamber up the stage and together they took another look at the vicinity.

"Look," Gerard said, "more people are coming in."

He was right. There was a steady stream of people coming through the door now; women, men, teenage girls and boys who looked like they shouldn't be there. Frank eyed the teenage girls especially, trying to decipher the state of their virginity through pure instinct. So far, it doesn't feel like it's working.

"We'll find one, Frankie," Gerard murmured, and what the hell was up with the Ways and their freaky, mind-reading thing going on? Frank nodded, strumming his guitar once and deeming it satisfactory.

The first song on their setlist was _Helena_ , specially requested by Gerard in honor of his and Mikey's grandmother, who had just passed away a few months ago. It was a dark time for everybody, but it gave Gerard the idea for the direction they should be going, and they started again from there. Which was why it seemed only fit to start their night with that song, seeing as it might be the beginning of everything, if all goes well later. A blonde girl with glasses entered the bar, biting her lip nervously, and Frank glanced at Gerard for a second before turning his back on the crowd. There was a significant amount of people now compared to five minutes ago, and he could feel his heart starting to pump the way it always did before shows, small or big. It was the adrenaline, the excitement laced with fear, and the buzz in Frank's blood was so addicting he couldn't stand it. That was why he barely listened to Gerard before agreeing to this fucking madness – because if all it took was one little girl's life to have that buzz over and over again, he'd gladly offer it up.

Gerard was excited, too, but mostly nervous. Sure, he had played a ton of shows before, but his anxiety was always acting up at the weirdest of times. He closed his eyes, took deep breaths and counted in his head, just like Mikey always told him to do, and when he opened them again he felt somewhat calmer. He tapped the microphone experimentally and winced when it made an angry, static noise.

"Sorry," he said solemnly to the microphone. He heard Frank snicker behind him, and he was about to give him a kick to the shins when a girl walked up to them, flashing a bright grin. He met Frank's eyes before turning to the girl again.

"Hi!" she said, way too enthusiastic. He looked her up and down – she was, well, really fucking hot, he wasn't going to lie. And really fucking young by the looks of it – she couldn't be more than eighteen. Her makeup couldn't fool him. She looked like she walked straight out of a Playboy magazine, all tits and legs and beautifully arched eyebrows. She reminded him of all the girls who ignored him in high school, and he smiled a little to himself. _Ah, how the tables have turned_.

"Hi," he said warmly, taking her outstretched hand. She shook it with fucking fervor and, like, _intent_ , like it was the last handshake she was ever going to experience.

The girl giggled, high-pitched and flushed. "You're warm," she murmurs, and Gerard wasn't sure if he should say _thank you_ or something, but it didn't matter, since she continued. "I just wanted to meet you, or, uh, something – I'm Jennifer Check" – she shook his hand again before finally stepping back – "and this is my friend."

Gerard wouldn't even notice her friend if she hadn't stepped back and introduced her. Jennifer's friend was plain-looking, bordering on pretty, with the right makeup and proper lighting. She was blonde and bespectacled and kind of – curled up into herself, Gerard thought, which wasn't surprising, considering the contrast between her and Jennifer. Gerard gave her a sympathetic smile and said hello before stepping down the stage so they wouldn't have to crane their necks looking up at him. "I'm, uh, Gerard, and this is – "

"My Chemical Romance," Jennifer finished for him, beaming. Gerard quirked up his eyebrows – was My Chem _that_ popular now? "Yeah, we've – I've heard about you. You guys play instruments really, super good."

"Thank you," said Gerard, smiling again. He didn't play any instruments, obviously, but hearing someone compliment his band mates like that made his heart swell up in pride.

"Um, excuse me, can I ask a question?"

Gerard turned to Jennifer's mousy friend, who was still unnamed. She didn't seem as nervous as Jennifer; she was calm and collected. Not a fan of them, then. Gerard nodded in encouragement.

"Why would you play all the way out here in Devil's Kettle – I mean, you guys are from New Jersey, right?"

Just the mention of Jersey sent a pang of homesickness through Gerard, but he ignored it. "Yeah, uh, you know, we think it's really important to connect with fans in, like, shitty areas, too," he said easily, not really processing the words until the girl made a face. "Wait, not that this is a shitty place – I just mean, it's a little obscure, and we weren't even sure if anyone was gonna be here, honestly. But, like, yeah, it's awesome here. I love the name, especially. Sounds like a good metal band." Gerard was pretty much bullshitting his way through it – he didn't even remember the name of the place, really. It had something about the devil, but he wasn't too sure.

Jennifer ate it all up, though. "That's amazing," she sighed dreamily. Gerard glanced at her friend – she seemed less impressed. Gerard grinned at her.

"Can I, uh, can I buy you a drink?" Jennifer asked.

He hesitated, but then thought it would be good to earn this girl's trust, so he said, "Sure. What are we having?"

"They have this really awesome 9/11 tribute shooter? It's red, white, and blue, but you gotta drink it really fast or it turns brownish."

"Okay, then we'll drink it really fast." Was it just a coincidence that they had a 9/11 tribute drink – the very same reason why they started this band in the first place? Gerard tried not to think too much about it, but he was a sucker for destiny and all that magical shit, and the cogs in his brain were still working when Jennifer left with her friend.

Before they set off for the bar, Jennifer's friend took her by the shoulders and talked in hushed tones. Gerard cocked his head and watched. She seemed to be warning Jennifer of something, by the way she darted her eyes warily, like Jennifer _needed_ to be protected. Which. Gerard turned to his band again, a new fire in his eyes.

Mikey was nearest, so he nudged his little brother and nodded to Jennifer at the bar. "Dude, what about her?"

"Who, Glasses McGee?" Mikey was looking at Jennifer's still unnamed friend, who had strayed to the pinball machine near the jukebox.

"You're one to talk," scoffed Gerard. "I'm talking about the one getting me a drink, the sugar queen butter princess? That's the one."

"I don't know, man."

"Listen, I went to SVA with girls like that. There's always these types of girls who show it off way too much, but never actually give it up."

"How would _you_ know?"

"Fuck you, I got laid plenty." Gerard peered at Jennifer again, who was flirting with what looked like a cop. "My point is, this girl's definitely a virgin, okay? Now I know girls like that – "

But Mikey was shaking his head. "I don't know, I think she's – "

"Come on, dude, we didn't come all the way out here for nothing," Gerard interrupted impatiently.

" _Fine_ ," Mikey gritted. "I was just stating my fucking opinion, you know. Not that it fucking matters."

"Of course it does," Gerard frowned.

"I'm not just a bassist, okay," Mikey continued, "I'm a _person._ With feelings. Who happens to play the bass."

Gerard opened his mouth. but someone else spoke. "Um, excuse me – "

"And I'd like to have a little respect – "

Gerard rolled his eyes. "Stop being so over-dramatic, Mikey."

Mikey flipped him off, then pointed behind him. Gerard turned and saw Glasses – Jennifer's friend – standing there with her arms crossed, looking generally displeased with the world. Gerard blinked once, then said, "Hey?"

"That's my best friend you were talking about," she said.

For a minute Gerard didn't know what she was talking about, but then he remembered she was with Jennifer, and he nodded in understanding.

"And you're right – she _is_ a virgin. But that beats sleeping with creeps like you."

She glared at Gerard again, as if attempting to melt him into oblivion, but at that point he didn't care. She was their girl, he knew it. He gave her what he hoped look like an apologetic smile and then watched her stalk away before turning to Mikey again. "What was that all about?" Mikey whispered.

"I was right," Gerard gloated, stepping on the stage. "She's a virgin, man; she's our girl."

"You sure?"

Gerard nodded, then turned to Frank and Ray, quirking an eyebrow. He turned on his heel to nod at Bob, and when he got the signal that they were all ready, he swung around and screamed into the microphone. "Good evening, Devil's Lake!"

"It's Kettle!" someone hollered from the back of the crowd.

"Fuck yeah it is," Gerard grinned into the microphone. "I knew it had a Devil in it." He laughed, not finding it in himself to care anymore, and they launched into their first song right off the bat – Helena.

Gerard closed his eyes, losing himself to the music, to the lyrics he had wrote to make a change. It was strange, how mesmerized he was by his own words, how mesmerized the crowd was, staring back at him. They were all starry eyes and warm grins and fuck, Gerard's _heart_ hurt, thinking yes, yes. This is where I should be, this is how everything should be.

His eyes landed on the girl again – Jennifer, he thought vaguely. She was gripping her friend's hand so tight, looking more like a real, down-to-earth person than she did before, as opposed to the sex vixen that walked up to them earlier. _Sorry_ , he said to her in his head, _I'm sorry, but we have to do this, and we're sorry it had to be you._

 _"And what's the worst that I can say? Things are better if I stay. So long and goodnight,"_ he sang, staring right at Jennifer and watching her bite her lip in awe, and for some reason he felt his heart shake a little when he continued, " _So long and goodnight."_

Poor little girl, just at the wrong place at the wrong time. He almost wished she didn't have to die – but, well, she did.

Gerard was still singing – had been singing for a while now, he thought, even if it was really only a few minutes – when he felt Mikey nudge at him with his bony-ass elbows. Gerard glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, still singing, but all Mikey did was look up.

Gerard followed his gaze. The ceiling was on fire.

He shrugged, not really processing it, then narrowed his world back to the crowd in front of him. Fuck Mikey for trying to distract him –

Gerard froze, finally realizing.

 _The fucking ceiling was on fucking_ fire.

"What the fuck," he said, but it was drowned out by screams as a wooden beam fell down in flames, engulfing the room in smoke and fire and fuck, fuck, they had to get out of there. Gerard mouthed at his band to start getting the fuck out and they all fled the stage, guitars still in their sweat-slicked hands, ignoring the screams of pain and terror behind them. They were all coughing as the smoke entered their lungs, but Bob was there, yelling, something about grabbing each other. Gerard felt Frank yanking on his shirt impatiently; he stumbled through the dark corridor leading to the back room, eyes tearing up. They were still screaming out there, still screaming even when nobody was coming to help – Gerard wanted to go back, for some reason, but Frank's fingers were pulling at him again, and he heard Frank croaking, "Gerard, _please"_ in this broken voice, so he went.

Finally they emerged out of the back door, hacking up their lungs as they went. The night air was a severe contrast to the hellfire inside. "Is everyone here?" Ray wheezed.

Everyone grunted in response.

"Holy shit," Gerard breathed, crouched over with his hands on his knees. "Holy _fucking_ shit."

"For real," Bob muttered.

"The people inside," Gerard started, suddenly standing straight. "We need to – "

" _No,"_ Frank said, already grabbing Gerard. "Gee, it's too late, that's fucking suicidal – "

"But we can't just – " Gerard flinched when he heard a heavy _bang_ from somewhere inside the bar, followed by a single, ear-shattering scream.

Everything was silent again except for the sound of fiery ruin.

The band watched the flames licking up what was left of Melody Lane, huddled up together in shock. The oranges and reds and yellows danced in front of their eyes, almost mocking, and none of them spoke for what seemed like eternity. None of them even dared to breathe loudly – it was, it was all too much, and they didn't know what or how to _feel._

Finally, Bob broke the silence. "I need a fucking drink."

Everyone nodded wholeheartedly in agreement, struggling to stand with their smoke-filled veins and then shuffling back to their van, which had a cooler filled with beer at the back. Bob popped his first bottle with his fingers, chugging it down like it was water. Gerard winced as he took a sip of his own, letting the bitterness wash over his tongue to replace the taste of burnt wood.

They weren't very sure of how it happened, but suddenly they were just standing around their van sharing drinks, watching a burning building with what could be perceived as a strange calmness. "Why don't we call fucking 911 or something?" Ray pondered after taking a swig from his bottle.

It would've been funny, how the whole band went _oh yeah_ when they realized they should've called for help like, five minutes ago, but it kind of meant they were pieces of shit for people, so it was horrifying instead.

Ray punched the number on his phone and went away.

"Man," Frank said. Gerard watched the fire reflected in his eyes, flickering like a faulty lightbulb. "We played so hard we set that motherfucker on _fire_."

That earned him a smack on the head from Bob. "Don't be an asshole, Frank. People probably died."

Frank shrugged unapologetically. "Just trying to diffuse the tension."

Gerard unconsciously gripped his bottle tighter, getting lost in his own thoughts. The bar they were playing at _caught fire._ They were just there, you know, playing what should be the first single on their next album, and now the whole fucking place is burning to the ground, and _shit._ Gerard almost wished he wasn't a big believer of signs, because this was a huge one. There must be Someone out there who _doesn't_ want them or their music. He bowed his head, painfully disheartened by the turn of events, when –

"Jennifer, look at me!"

Gerard turned to his head to see – it was, it was her, The Girl, slumped down in the ground in a stupor while her friend fussed over her, screaming in panic.

He can't believe he almost fucking forgot the reason why they even came here to Devil's Kettle in the first place – it was her, and he realized, _she_ was the sign, not the fucking building burning down. She was the sign, because the whole building was filled with burning bodies but she survived, just like Gerard and the rest of them survived, and he suddenly found himself walking towards them, determined to _do_ this as a big fuck-you to the universe. Little things like burning infrastructures would _not_ stand in his way.

"Thank God you guys survived," Gerard said sincerely when he was within earshot. They both looked like a mess, all smudged and distraught. They ignored Gerard, though; they were lost in their own heads, obviously tramautized, so Gerard waited it out, a little, rocking back and forth on his feet.

He waited another beat for good measure, then said, "So, it's, uh" – another explosion went put behind him – "really _dangerous_ out here, don't you want to go somewhere safer?"

They _finally_ took notice of Gerard; the blonde girl whipped her head to glare at him. "What?"

Gerard crouched down. "Look, it's like, really fucking dangerous out here, in case you didn't notice?" He waved to the general area of what used to be Melody Lane. "We should really get somewhere safe, you know, and familiar, and like, you know – our van's right there, we could get some – "

The other girl – fuck, Gerard forgot her _name_ – starts nodding, murmuring "Yes."

"You're in shock, aren't you? Fuck, d'you wanna – no, you probably shouldn't drink – let's just, let's go." He took her hand and semi-dragged her upward, but she stood without much protest. He took another swig of his beer, leading her away, but he felt a pull and there was her friend, pulling her back and foiling Gerard's plans.

"Let's go, Jen," she pleaded.

"Let's go," he repeated, "to my van."

"I want to go to your really cool van – Needy, let's go see his van!" The Girl said then, and Gerard wrinkled his nose. _The fuck kinda name is Needy?_

 _"_ Why? Why should we?" Needy was standing a few feet away from them, watching Gerard help her friend into the van. She looked like she was on the verge of tears. He would give her a hug, you know, if he wasn't busy trying to lure her best friend into her death. "Wh – "

"Needy, stop it. Just shut up," she interrupted. Gerard shared raised eyebrows with his bandmates, who were all sitting around the wide expanse of the van. _Burn_ , Frank mouthed. It was silent when she clambered in the van somewhat awkwardly, settling next to Ray, and Gerard turned to look at Needy before closing the door.

She looked fucking _heartbroken_ , standing there alone, and he saw her actually flinch when he slid the door close with a loud thud. She settled his gaze on him, eyes as fiery as the burning building behind her, and Gerard shot her an overly-sweet smile. He shrugged his shoulders apologetically, as if to say, _sorry for murdering your best friend_ , but it hadn't actually happened yet, so he made his way to the driver's seat and climbed in.

"Okay," he said to Mikey in the passenger seat. "Let's blow this popsicle stand."

*

They didn't actually think this through, they realized, because they were letting _Gerard_ drive. Gerard, who, for an artist, had no sense of perspective, and practically ran over a bunch of stuff _even when it wasn't in their way_ – he just swore pleasantly whenever the van made a screech of protest underneath them, acting like he wasn't leading them to their untimely deaths.

"Gerard, I fucking love you to death, man," Frank said somberly, "but you are an awful fucking driver, _seriously_ , I feel like my limbs are gonna fall off, fucking hell."

Gerard grinned. "I love you too, Frankie."

"Where are we going?" the girl asked then. She looked – really fucking scared, her eyes darting around the van, probably taking note of the crumpled burger wrappers and shirts lying around. Gerard thought there wasn't anything out of the ordinary in there, no reason to freak out.

Except. "Fuck," he muttered. He could see it in his mind's eye, the Satanist Bible lying there in the backseat. He was only flipping through it a little, it actually had nothing to do with their sacrifice, but still. She must've seen it, since she was whimpering there, making terrified noises that rose as the seconds ticked by. Gerard glanced at her through the rearview mirror – she was crying.

"Are you guys rapists?" she asked softly, and _fuck_ , it was all Gerard could do _not_ to stop the vehicle and start explaining how he would _never_ promote rape culture, it was something he _strongly_ felt against. Instead he gripped the steering wheel tighter because wow, he felt like a fucking hypocrite.

Mikey glanced at him, waiting for an answer. "No," he finally replied.

Then, as if everything wasn't a shitfest already, Frank said, "Are we even sure she's a fucking virgin?"

"Yes," she exclaimed, way too loud, "yes, I'm a virgin. I'm a virgin – I've never even done anything, I don't know how, so. You guys should find someone who does. Know how."

"See," Gerard gloated. Frank mumbled something under his breath and settled back. The van was silent again, save for the occasional unpleasant clunking noises. Gerard couldn't see much beyond the headlights, but they were deep in the woods now, almost there. When he learned the origins of Devil's Kettle's name, his first thought was _that's fucking gnarly,_ followed by _what the fuck I've never used 'gnarly' in my whole life_ and then finally, _that's the perfect place for a Satanic ritual._ Because it was. What was more evil than a seemingly endless whirlpool in some obscure devil town? A lot of things, probably, but Gerard thought it was cool nonetheless.

He perked up and stomped on the breaks, causing the whole van to lurch forward unpleasantly. "We're here!"

He climbed out of the driver's seat first, circling around to help the guys. He heard the van door slide open, and then he saw Ray and his massive set of hair was clambering out – but he fell forward into the dirt with a groan, and at first he didn't process what was happening until he saw the girl jumping down from the van. She had actually _kicked_ Ray, and Gerard let his anger take over – because the next thing he knew he had his arms wrapped around her in a bone-crushing lock. How fucking _dare_ she do that to Ray. "Where are you going, honey?" he gritted, clamping a hand on her mouth when she cried out. She was hysterical now, kicking and flailing like crazy. Gerard cocked his head and signaled Frank and Bob to grab her legs while Mikey helped Ray up.

She struggled some more, snapping at Gerard's hand, but he just frowned and jerked his head backward when she started flailing again. It was then that he noticed the moon. "Hey, we got a waxing moon, guys!" he said happily, kidnapped girl in his arms forgotten. "Just like the ritual said!"

"Whoop-dee-fucking-doo," Bob muttered. "Let's just get this over with."

Gerard let go of her mouth to take one of her arms while Ray took the other, and with Frank and Bob on her legs they managed to carry a screaming, hysterical girl to the cliff above the infamous demonic whirlpool. Mikey trailed nearby, kicking at a pebble. The girl's screeches were fit for a banshee, pleading and begging and so, _so_ desperate, it was almost beautiful. Gerard could feel his heartbeat spiking up, a mixture of excitement and nerves, and it felt _just_ like his pre-show jitters that he shivered in anticipation. Every scream sent a rush through his fucking veins, and he wasn't even sure if it was bad or good anymore, just that he _liked_ it.

The rest of them didn't share the same sentiment, though. "Does anyone have anything to shut her up?" Frank asked harshly. Mikey produced a piece of cloth seemingly out of nowhere and tied it like a gag around her mouth. She was still screaming and crying, but it was muffled around the cloth, and for a while it was almost pleasant, walking through the woods in the dark. Fucking therapeutic, Gerard thought. He ought to do this every month.

After they tied her down to a tree stump overlooking the whirlpool, they folded their arms and watched her writhe for a while, assessing their work. Ray stuck his hand into his backpack and produced a fucking _torch_ – leave it up to Ray to be prepared for _anything,_ which apparently included late night sacrifices to the dark lord Satan – and he shone it on everyone's faces, casting eery shadows that made everyone look more grim than they were. It made her look more haunting, the darkness of her eyes more pronounced, just like the mascara running down her face, a mixture of sweat and tears. She looked, well, debauched, in the worst way possible, like she had gone through Hell already.

"I don't know if we should go through with this, man," Ray said nervously.

Gerard grabbed his shoulders. "Do it for the band, Ray."

"But – "

"For the _fucking_ band, Ray! Plus, didn't she kick you?"

"Yeah, but that isn't really grounds for _sacrificing her virginal body_." The girl made another noise again, like she was dying, and Ray frowned at her. "We're gonna _kill_ someone, Gee."

"Yes, but. Her death will mean our birth! And with My Chem's birth comes the business of making people feel better, of saving lives! We can't just sit around and wait for our big break, Ray, we gotta do _something_ , and if that something means sacrificing one life for the greater good, then so be it."

Ray sighed. "I'm going to Hell."

"See you there," Gerard replied cheerfully. "You got the book?"

Ray fumbled with his bag again, this time pulling out a leather-bound book, ragged and rough around the edges, the pages yellow and brittle. "Alright!" Gerard exclaimed, clapping his hands once.

"Is that real?" Bob asked, eyeing the book in Gerard's hands wearily.

"Yeah. I got it on eBay."

The band murmured their consent, and Gerard grinned brightly at them before squinting down at the book, with Ray's torch as the only source of light. "Alright," he said, clearing his throat. "We come here tonight to sacrifice the body of – " He paused, reaching down to pull her gag down. "I'm sorry, what's your name again? I totally forgot."

"My name's Jennifer," she sobbed impressively. "Please let me – "

"Super. We come here tonight to sacrifice the body of Jennifer from Devil's Kettle – "

"Please, please don't do this," Jennifer whimpered, her voice broken. Gerard crouched down, frowning at her interruption.

"Look, Jennifer – can I call you Jenny? Yeah, Jenny. Do you any idea how tough it is in the music industry nowadays?" She just stared at him, wide-eyed and fearful. Gerard shook his head. "It's a fucking jungle out there. And, like, I don't mean to be impatient, you know. But we're so _different_ from the other bands, okay, we have a fucking mission, a _goal._ We don't care about the money. We're doing this for the fans – all the fans that would find inspiration from our music once they hear it on the fucking radio. But we can't do it if we're stuck playing the same shitty gigs, okay. Satan's our only hope."

Jennifer was crying again, these hot, fat tears rolling down her face nonstop, all remnants of the confident girl she used to be sliding along with it. Gerard stood up, cricking his neck and stepping back. "So we need to make a good impression on him – and to do that, we're going to have to butcher you. And offer you up to him. And then Ray here's gonna pee on your face. Relax, Ray, I'm kidding about the peeing thing," he added when he saw Ray's absolute look of horror. "The rest is gonna happen, though." He shrugged his shoulders in a _what can you do?_ manner.

"No, no, please – I'll do anything, I won't tell anyone, just – please let me go, please, please." Jennifer was still crying and begging, and Gerard just watched her with a pensive look on his face. Ray's torch made her look even more desperate, the shadows making wonders out of her contorted face, and the way she struggled to free herself from the ropes on her wrists and feet was so pathetically feeble, he couldn't help but let out a noise of sympathy.

"Tell you what, Jenny. Maybe we'll write a song about you? That would be cool, right?" Jennifer made another helpless, ragged sound, high-pitched but guttural. Either she really liked the idea, or hated it. Or maybe it was the knife Gerard had pulled from his coat. That was probably it. He raised the switchblade knife he had packed for the tour, watching it glint against the light, and that combined with the low sounds of Jennifer's moans made his mind whir into a sea of song lyrics to go with the moment.

Gerard cleared his throat. "With the deepest malice we deliver this virgin unto thee – "

"Hot murder weapon, Gee," Frank interrupted suddenly, like he had only noticed then. Gerard couldn't help smiling and blushing like an idiot, because Frank was looking at him all awed and flushed, the color high on his cheeks even when it was only illuminated by a torch.

"Thanks, Frankie," he murmured fondly.

"Where'd you get it? I should totally get one, so we could match."

"That sounds _awesome_. I think I got it – "

"OH MY GOD STOP FLIRTING AND KILL THIS GIRL ALREADY, _"_ Mikey exclaimed, with, like, _feeling._

Gerard blinked once, coming back to his senses, and then poised the knife again. He sent a wink at Frank's direction before re-starting his little demonic spiel. "Alright, here we go, it's gonna be fucking _gnarly_!"

He could feel everyone's eyes on him, waiting for him to strike, and their gazes all felt like hungry wolves feasting on the weak, and _yes_ , he thought to himself. Fuck yes. His blood was pumping again, rushing through his ears and making everything sound like it's being swept up by the wind, and he felt everyone leaning over, breathing into each other's oxygen and he felt fucking _sick_ with the excitement and the guilt and fear mixing together. He brought his hand down fast, and then –

He stopped just a few centimeters away from her. "Wait a minute, I thought of something."

Jennifer screamed again, crying her soul out, writhing against the ropes and gasping like a fish out of water.

Gerard straightened himself again. "I just thought of like, song lyrics? Um, it kind of goes – uh." He hummed, getting the tune right, then belts out quietly, " _How can they say?/_ _Jenny could you come back home?/ '_ _Cause everybody knows you don't/_ _Ever wanna come back/_ _Let me be the one to save you."_

"Nice," Ray said. "I can write a guitar riff for that, later."

"Later," Gerard agreed, then turned back around and stabbed Jennifer right in the heart.

It all seemed to happen so fast – he was stabbing her, over and over again, feeling the tip puncturing the skin and going through the flesh and muscle and sinews, and he thought _wow, this feels sorta nice_ followed by _I'm killing someone,_ which led to a series of confusing thoughts that ended up in his brain becoming a jumbled mess of !!!!. He could barely hear Jennifer screaming over the sound of his own heartbeat, and he couldn't see what the other guys were doing, his world was so narrowed down to the feel of the knife going out and in and out, and then the blood spattering everywhere, soaking his hands and jacket and his face. He felt blood dripping down his chin, and he moved to wipe it only after she finally went silent. Her eyes were open, but they were unseeing.

She was still so beautiful, he thought. Her pale skin did so well with the bright crimson of blood staining her everywhere, and she looked almost... ethereal. Gerard thought he would have to paint this somewhere, or even just the concept of it. Maybe on their next album cover or something.

Gerard stalked over to the edge of the cliff, wiping the handle of the knife with his jacket before flinging it away. He watched the silver glinting in the moonlight before being sucked into the endless whirlpool, hopefully never to be seen again.

When he turned around, everyone was staring at him expectantly. "Now what?" asked Bob.

Gerard peered at the ground, as if expecting Satan to pop out of it. "I guess we wait."

"I was serious about what I said, Gerard," Ray said, pointing an accusatory finger at Jennifer. "If this doesn't work I will fucking murder you, man."

Gerard rolled his eyes. "It will."

There was a deafening silence after that, punctured only by the nighttime cicadas and the rustle of leaves. They started walking back to their van quietly. Gerard tried hard not to shake too much.

"Hey," Frank whispered behind him. "That was hot."

Gerard chuckled under his breath. "You're a fucking psychopath, Frank," he whispered back with every ounce of affection in his being. He felt Frank grin, then grab the back of Gerard's shirt, pulling himself closer. They walked like that until they clambered back into the van. Bob drove this time.

Nobody spoke for a while. Gerard guessed everyone was in shock. He was, too, honestly. They did it, they actually did it. His hands felt numb from gripping the knife too tight.

"What if we fucked it up?" Frank piped up. Gerard turned to look at him; he didn't look nervous, just amused. "What if she didn't actually die and now she's gonna come back and haunt us?"

"That would be kinda awesome," Gerard admitted. He let his head fall back against the wall of the van, closing his eyes. "Three cheers for sweet, sweet revenge."


	3. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My Chemical Romance made it big.

"And that's a wrap! Thanks for your time, Mikey, and good luck for MCR!"

Mikey blushes a little like he can't help it, then ducks down before murmuring his own thanks. The interviewer hops down from her seat, done for the day, and nobody even notices him much when he shuffles out of the room to find his band.

They're all still probably lounging around the hotel room, reveling in the fact that they actually _have_ a hotel room. He smiles to himself, remembering the old shitty motels and those well-loved van days, which remains a thing of the past. He would say he misses it, but he really, really doesn't.

The hotel this time is one of the fancier ones, probably four-star or something, and they were so ecstatic to have My Chemical Romance staying in their hotel that they offered everything for _free,_ which – wow. Unlimited room service and luxurious beds and showers with fancy buttons and _unlimited fucking room service_. Mikey sighs. He seriously loves his fucking life.

He's right, of course. Gerard, Frank, Bob, and Ray are sitting around in their room, the latter two shoving at each other as they played the latest version of _Guitar Hero –_ which, by the way, features their fucking song on it. Mikey doesn't like geeking out, but when he found out Guitar Hero was featuring _their_ song, he geeked out pretty hard.

"Suck it, Toro," Bob says smugly.

"How can I lose when I _wrote_ the fucking song," Ray grumbles, shaking the hair out of his face. Mikey laughs then, passing over Ray to pat his shoulder sympathetically before going over to Gerard and Frank, cuddling up together on the bed like toddlers.

"They asked me if we sacrifice any virgins," he whispers, smiling.

Frank cracks up immediately. "What did you say?"

Mikey shrugs. "Can't let it get too exciting."

Frank nods. "If they only knew."

It's almost crazy how fast it happened for them – the very next day they got a call from this manager, Brian Schechter, and everything just sort of piled in right after that. Then it was bigger shows, bigger venues, bigger crowds. An album under a major label. More records sold in a week than their first album ever sold in its lifetime. Nothing about any of it felt evil, Mikey thinks. It just feels like five guys making their dreams come true.

Someone knocks on their door, soft but concise. Mikey frowns at Gerard and Frank. "Probably Brian or something. Security won't let fans in, right?" The knocking continues. "I'll get it."

Mikey forgets to look through the peephole – he just straight up opens the door, expecting to see Brian or a hotel manager or something.

Instead, there is a girl standing in front of him.

"Hi," he says, confused. She's small and pale, her hands stuffed in a hoodie that partly conceals her face. She's wearing – pajamas? And bunny slippers, what the fuck, Mikey thought, is this some kind of joke? "Can I help you?" he tries again.

The girl looks up. Her eyes are familiar. She takes one hand out of her pocket and he sees a glint of silver he's only seen in Gerard's hands more than a year ago.

He says, "Oh, _fuck"_ before everything goes red.


End file.
